


What the Dreams are Made of

by EstelUndomiel (capn_cecil_ang)



Series: Destiel 'spur of inspiration' one-shots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angsty Dean, Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I have no idea if this qualifies as wing fic, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, One Shot, Purgatory, Sleep, Spooning, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capn_cecil_ang/pseuds/EstelUndomiel
Summary: Dean is a restless sleeper. Castiel wants to comfort him, whatever way he deems appropriate.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel 'spur of inspiration' one-shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679482
Comments: 4
Kudos: 168





	What the Dreams are Made of

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, for the last month I've been re-watching first five seasons of SPN, and working on Restless Nights (my neverending unfinished Destiel fic *sigh*) and apparently I'm overworked cause two nights ago I had a dream... about Cas' wings (don't ask, I don't have a good answer). The next day I couldn't stop thinking about it and it somehow turned into this...

The rushing of the blood in his ears is almost numbing. The shortness of his breath is making it hard for him to run. The twigs break and bend here and there, the only sound beside their quick breathing. His hand cramps; the force with which he’s holding his blade is making the hilt bury into his palm. The sweat and dirt are trickling down his neck. He’s running on automatic now, he can’t even feel his legs anymore. He hates this place. The foul stench and miserable atmosphere. The ever-present danger. In some ways, it’s worse than Hell.

“I think we lost ’em,” Benny’s voice sounds from behind him.

Dean glances over his shoulder. He seems to be right. They’re not following them anymore, at least for now. He comes to a halt and leans against an enormous tree. “Good,” he says as he’s trying to catch his breath. Bending down, he heaves heavily.

“You okay there?” Benny asks.

“No,” Dean grunts. “I’m still human. I have... lungs that breathe. And muscles that ache.”

Benny smirks, but his eyes are still restless, flinching from place to place.

“We lost them,” he says, “but we shouldn’t stay here.”

Dean looks up to him, still trying to catch his breath. “It’s getting dark.”

“Yeah. We should move on, find a place to camp during the night.” He looks at Dean, and an amused smirk appears on his face again. “Besides, I’ve heard it helps to walk it off.”

Dean shoots him a glare and grunts as he straightens and looks around. The woods look the same everywhere, and Dean is pretty sure they’ve got lost again.

“This way,” he says, and gestures to what he assumes is West. “It smells less foul in here.”

They walk for another two hours before deciding it’s pointless. Knowing they won't find a better place to rest, they stop in the area where woods are growing more densely, shielding them from unwanted eyes. They sit opposite each other, both of them leaning back against the tree trunks. Sleeping is pretty much pointless, so why even try. Sleeping in this place is like sleeping on needles. You can’t find a comfortable spot to lie on. And even if you could, you always feel like something’s going to jump at you when you close your eyes only for a minute. Making a fire is out of the question, so you not only mangle your bones by trying to lie on that rock-solid ground, but you also freeze your ass off. So they sit, mostly in silence, Benny looking around from time to time, Dean playing with his makeshift machete, jamming it into the ground, turning it slowly.

“When we find him again,” he mumbles to himself, “I’m gonna kill him.”

“What’s with you two, anyway?” Benny’s voice cut through Dean’s thoughts, and he looks up to him, sharp. Benny shrugs. “You have, like, history together?”

“We’ve been through much, him and me,” Dean blurts, not wanting to linger on the topic. His eyes travel back to his knife, and he says, much quieter. “He pulled me from Hell once. It’s my turn to return the favor.”

They fall silent after that, sitting and guarding their poor excuse for a camp.

Dean doesn’t know how much time passes when he hears it. The unmistakable soft rustling of the wind. Benny is immediately on his feet, prepared to fight. Dean jumps up too, but he reaches out a hand to stop his companion.

“It’s okay,” he stops him. For others, the sound could be a soft breeze or a weird rustling. But Dean is way too familiar with it. He’s heard it too many times already. Folding of the wings.

“Dean,” a low grumble comes from not afar. It’s way too dark to see anything else but an outline of a person standing near them. But Dean knows that silhouette all too well, and he steps closer to a trench-coated figure.

“What the hell was that, Cas?” He says in a hushed voice. It’s dark, but not as dark that Dean couldn’t see those soul searching blue eyes burning into his soul if they were looking at him. But he doesn’t, which makes him assume Castiel can’t quite meet his gaze right now.

“They were looking for me, Dean. They will always look for me. As long as I am with you, you are in danger.” Castiel says.

“Compared to what?” Dean asks. “You think this is a walk through a rose garden when you’re not here?”

“Dean, I—”

“Save it,” Dean snaps. “You’re staying. The end of the discussion.”

A few hours later, Castiel is sitting at the foot of the tree near Dean, his knees to his chest. Dean is leaning against the trunk of another tree, sitting with his arms crossed at his chest, head bobbing occasionally. Castiel offered to stay on guard, it’s not like he needs to sleep, but Dean just huffed at the proposition and mumbled something about a chance to flee again. The vampire is sitting opposite of them, resting his eyes. Castiel doesn’t trust him entirely, and he’s pretty sure the feeling goes both ways since the vampire was watching them closely for a long time this evening. But now, even he has either gathered enough trust or exhaustion to fall asleep.

Castiel sighs and glances at Dean. He seems to have his eyes closed now, but he is still very stiff, his shallow sleep restless. Frowning slightly, an idea sparks in the angel's mind. He unfurls one of his wings, always keeping it invisible, trying to be as quiet as possible. He really doesn’t like the prospect of luring more Leviathans to them. His wing stretches out and reaches Dean’s shoulder. The hunter stirs and Castiel stiffens, carefully studying Dean's movements. When he's sure there's no threat of Dean waking up, Castiel dares to move again. He wraps the tip of his wing around Dean’s shoulder and creeps it under his shoulder blade. Dean mumbles something under his breath, but his eyes remain closed. Castiel maneuvers his wings to lean Dean’s torso slightly forward, making more room for his wing to wrap entirely around the other man. When he does it, he moves Dean back to his previous position, the only difference being that a feathery blanket is now wrapping around Dean like invisible protection. Though unseen, Castiel knows Dean can feel his feathers around him, and inevitably, he relaxes. A few minutes pass and Dean is leaning against Castiel’s wing wholly, a content expression on his face, as he falls into a deeper slumber.

When the morning comes, the vampire wakes up first. Castiel, a bit startled by the sudden movement on the other side, jumps a bit, his wings fluttering. Dean grumbles something and starts to stir. Castiel unwraps his feathers from Dean immediately and quickly folds it back to its neutral position. The swift motion making Dean fall to the ground, face first.

“What the hell?” Dean asks grumpily, getting up and dusting himself off.

“It’s morning,” Castiel says matter-of-factly.

“Really?” Dean asks, yawning. He looks back at the tree trunk he was leaning against and scratches his head.

“Something’s wrong?” Benny asks, already standing up and looking around.

“Nah,” Dean shrugs. “Just had quite decent rest for the first time in this place.”

Castiel stands up and clears his throat. “I believe the portal is this way.” He gestures towards the place where the woods are getting thinner.

Dean stands up next to him and gives him a suspicious look, “You’re still here.”

Castiel averts his gaze to the ground. “Of course, I am.”

******

The nightmares from Purgatory are haunting him every night that he actually gets some sleep. The imaginary of that terrible place, being hunted for life, and the worst of all, Castiel letting go of his hand when they finally found their getaway. Dean sleeps even less than before, and it mirrors both his mood and his job performance. But it’s not like he would get well-rested even when he goes to sleep, so why bother anyway.

Until one day, when they arrive at one of those crappy motels. Dean hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days, so he’s pretty glad when he finally hits the bed. Sam is on the stakeout for a case the whole night, but it’s not like that’s going to change anything. Well, at least he won’t be sending Dean questioning looks all morning. And Dean won’t need to avoid talking about his nightmares. So there’s a bright side to this, Dean thinks.

He doesn’t even bother changing his clothes or brushing his teeth. He just flops on the bed and shuts his eyes. As usual, the flashes of blood, dirt, and sweat immediately appear in front of him. He tries to will it away, tries to think about anything else. Still, the unforgettable images of Purgatory come back every time. It feels like an eternity for him, tossing and turning, the bed creaking with every move. Somehow he falls asleep though, his exhaustion winning over the haunting imagery. But his sleep is restless. Dean feels like he’s there again, running, fighting, bleeding. He screams in his dream, and he’s pretty sure he screams for real too. But then, out of nowhere, like a swoop of fresh air, Dean feels his mind calming.

The morning light creeps through the window shades and hits the skin on Dean’s cheek. Dean nuzzles into the soft material of his bed. He must have been really exhausted last night because he didn’t notice before, but the sheets are actually very nice. They’re soft and silky, like a satin, but they’re not cold. They’re not hot either, just the right amount of warmth. And the smell. They smell like fresh air and mountains and ocean and sun at the same time. Dean breaths in and feels how the calmness is spreading through his body. The sharp but warm smell mixes in Dean’s nostrils, and something tickles his neck. Hmmm, Dean mumbles as he moves his hand, and… his hand grabs something. Something that feels almost like... a feather. Before Dean can wake up properly and process the information, the feather-like thing moves away, and Dean shudders with cold. He instinctively grabs his gun from under the pillow and shots upright. His hand freezes when he sees Castiel sitting on Sam’s bed, his marble face with no specific expression, but his eyes wide and startled.

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean sits up straight, remembering where Sam is. “What time is it?” he puts the gun away and rubs his eyes. “Wait,” Dean stops, and looks straight at the angel. “Were you watching me sleep, Cas?”

Castiel swallows and opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“Dude,” Dean exclaims, grouchily. “What the hell? How long are you just sitting there? Why didn’t you wake me up? What…” Dean stops and exhales deeply to calm himself down. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “That’s just... it’s creepy, Cas. Don’t do it, okay? Never do it again.”

Castiel’s eyes are fixed on Dean, but he doesn’t seem to be able to muster the words. Eventually, he gives out a weak: “I’m sorry, Dean.” and with a blink of an eye, he flees away.

“What the fu—?” Dean is interrupted by his phone ringing, and he groans mildly. Fifty bucks, it’s Sam calling.

******

“I shall take my leave now,” Castiel says and vanishes from his post in the middle of another motel room that the Winchester brothers are currently occupying.

Dean grunts a goodbye and takes another swig of the beer as he returns to cleaning his gun on the bed. Sam, sitting by his laptop, stares at his brother, perplexed. As Dean doesn’t seem to register that, Sam clears his throat to get his attention. Dean looks up to his little brother and shots up his eyebrows.

“What? Did you find something about that evil son of a bitch? Cas was useless in his input on this case, so it’s up to you and your research skills, Sammy.”

Sam scoffs in disbelief. “Dude,” he says. “What the hell?”

“What the hell, what the hell?” Dean asks and shrugs.

“What the hell happened between you and Cas... again? Did you have another fight?”

Dean rolls his eyes and returns to cleaning his gun. “What kind of question is that? We’re not a couple.”

“Yeah, but you sure act like one. An estranged couple even.”

Sam sees a pillow heading his way and catches it mid-flight. “Nice try.” He says and throws it back at Dean. “I mean, come on. Cas is showing up pretty scarcely now, but when he shows up, he… it’s like he can’t look you in the eyes. Did something happen I don’t know about?”

“I didn’t notice anything wrong with him. He’s the same weird nerdy angel he’s always been.”

Sam tightens his lips, giving Dean his trademark bitchface. Dean rolls his eyes again and starts putting his gun together. It only takes him a moment, and the gun is lying comfortingly on its reliable place under Dean’s pillow. Dean looks back at his brother one last time and announces loudly: “Whatever. I’m going to sleep. Can’t wait to dig me into these amazing sheets.”

“You know,” Sam says, as he looks away from his computer screen again. “You are weirdly overselling these beds. They’re creaky and hard, and the covers stink. Yet you seem to sing songs about almost every damn motel we check in to, as it was a five-star hotel.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Sammy,” Dean says as he flops on his bed. “Maybe I’m just lucky in picking up the better bed. But I’m telling you, my bed is as soft as angel’s wings.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “How would you even know how an angel’s wing feels like?”

Dean thinks about it. “I don’t. But if I touched one, I imagine they would feel like my sheets.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam mumbles and returns his attention to his research again.

******

Sleeping in the bunker beats every motel room any day of the week. Having his own room and his privacy is something Dean never even dreamed of. And yet, somehow, as he’s lying in bed at nights, Dean can’t stop fantasizing about those amazing, soft, and warm beds some motels had. The beds in the bunker are okay, but it’s not the same as the ones Dean got so used to sleeping in the motels. The ones that felt so great he didn’t want to get out of them in the morning. There were times when Dean felt this comfort and safety in his bunker bed too, but it was scarce and all too fleeting. And sometimes he woke up during the night, feeling like a fish out of water because suddenly, that beautiful feeling of serenity was stripped away from him. Did Dean question these weird nightly incidents? Not really. But did he miss the feeling of waking up into a cozy, soft blanket of calmness? Definitely.

The feeling didn’t occur for a few weeks already, but Dean assigned it to the stress of the job lately. After all, they had one more very stressful situation at hand, and that was Castiel losing his mojo again. This time he was a full-blown human. With needs for food, showers, and rest. Although, the rest was something Castiel seemed to neglect a whole more than Dean ever had. Dean or Sam frequently found Castiel slumping in the chair, or sitting at the desk, his head bobbing slightly. One time Dean even found him dozing off, leaning against the wall, as he was brushing his teeth. Castiel seemed to refuse to sleep correctly. However, Dean was sure the angel had a theoretical concept of it mastered. He had all the memories of his former vessel, after all. So he knew that people usually change into pajamas when they’re going to sleep, and they typically sleep in a bed. Yet Castiel seemed to be determined not to succumb to this particular human need.

It's evening and Dean is lying on his bed, his hands lightly placed on his abdomen. His thoughts are coming back to Castiel’s current condition again, wondering. Castiel would never say it out loud, but Dean saw it depressed him. He was a human, a mere human. A shadow of what he once was. No, not even a shadow. A squirming worm in the ground. Castiel might have liked humanity, fought for them also, but fighting for them and being them was a different thing entirely. Especially when you used to belong to a better club, so you know what you’re missing. Dean’s thoughts are whirling in his mind, actively trying to suppress his own need for sleep and oncoming nightmares. He succeeds for most of the night, running scenarios in his head and thinking of the options of how to get Castiel’s powers back. Still, he fails eventually and falls into a restless sleep.

Castiel sits on his bed, leaning against the wall. Dean and Sam are already in their rooms, sleeping. Castiel can’t. It’s too painful for him. He listens as Dean grunts and shouts something through gritted teeth from the next room. Sam’s room is too far from Dean’s, so he’s pretty oblivious about Dean’s nightmares, but Castiel hears Dean every night. And that pains him even more.

Dean lets out a full-blown scream now, and Castiel shuts his eyes and tries not to think about it. But he can’t do it. Just sit and listen to Dean’s suffering. In an impulse decision, he stands up and makes his way towards Dean’s room. Before Castiel can really think about what he’s doing, he’s sitting on Dean’s bed, nudging his shoulder slightly.

“Dean, wake up,” Castiel whispers. But Dean only mumbles something and turns on his side, his back towards Castiel.

Castiel sighs. He looks at Dean’s stiffed form on the bed, curling in an almost fetal position, and his heart aches. Why do people feel pain so intensely? Castiel shakes his head and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean?” he tries once again, but the hunter doesn’t respond. Another impulse decision of Castiel makes him climb to bed with Dean. He might not be able to comfort him with his wings anymore. But there is something else he saw people do for comfort for each other.

When Dean comes back to wakefulness that morning, he feels something is different immediately. He doesn’t wake up into soft sun-like covers, but he feels… good. He knows he had nightmares last night, he even remembers some, but they weren’t as bad as usual. Because there is that feeling of comfort around him, only not as intense as usual. Dean tries to turn around in his bed, and that’s when he realizes what’s different. There’s someone in bed with him. And that someone is spooning him, really tight.

Dean looks down at the hand gingerly thrown around his waist. He swallows hard, and his eyes widen when he realizes whom the hand belongs to. “Oh, God,” Dean breathes out and feels the person behind him stir slightly. Dean knows who it is, but he still feels the need to see it to believe. He turns around slowly and looks at the former angel, mortified.

Castiel opens his eyes slowly, feeling something’s not quite right. As he sleepily looks up, he sees Dean’s mortified look, just a few inches from his face. And then Dean quickly scurries away, almost falling down from his bed.

“What the hell, man?” Dean yells. No, he… shrieks, Castiel’s still sleepy mind corrects him.

“Dean,” he says, his voice groggy. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Dean almost shouts. “What the hell are you doing?”

Castiel gathers the surroundings of the room and realizes what’s happening. “Oh,” he says. He didn’t plan on falling asleep. That was not part of the plan at all.

“Oh,” he says again as he sits up at the bed, suddenly feeling very conscious.

“You’re damn right, oh,” Dean says and is standing at the foot of the bed, his arms at his hips.

Castiel gathers himself up and stands up too. “I’m…” he tries to say. “I’m sorry, Dean.” he makes his way towards the door, but Dean’s body is suddenly standing in his way, Dean’s index finger poking into his chest.

“Hells no,” Dean says. “You’re not fleeing again. Not now. Not until you explain this,” Dean gestures to bed.

“Dean, I,” Castiel starts.

“Don’t Dean me,” Dean snaps. “Sit down and start talking.”

Castiel feels cornered. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He sits down on Dean’s bed, running a hand through his messy hair. He clears his throat and starts talking very quietly at first.

“When we were in Purgatory, when… when we weren’t separated,” Castiel says.

“You mean when you weren’t a little bitch and wasn’t hiding from me,” Dean mumbles, still standing in the doorway, preventing Castiel to flee.

Castiel looks down at his hands, feeling a slight blush creeping at his face. That’s new, he thinks. And I don’t like it. But Dean is right. He was afraid, afraid that those monsters would hurt Dean, that’s why he was avoiding him. And he knew Dean also knew the real reason behind Castiel’s hiding, but he would never admit it out loud.

“I wanted to make it right, Dean, I really did. But I didn’t know how. You didn’t listen. And you were hurting. So I wanted to help you. To let you stop hurting, even if just for a moment. That’s why I… in the night when you were sleeping, I… I used to wrap my wings around you for comfort.” Castiel is pretty sure his entire face is burning red now, and he wishes he would still be able to just vanish into thin air. “When we came back from there. I tried to let you be. But… your dreams… I just couldn’t. It was too much for me to bear to feel you suffer so much, Dean.”

“Wait,” Dean holds up his palm. “What do you mean, feel me… do you… feel me, Cas?”

Castiel looks up to meet Dean’s eyes. “Yes, Dean,” he says, giving him a meaningful look. “I thought you knew.”

Dean’s blank expression tells him he didn’t.

“Oh,” Castiel says, furrowing his brows. “Well, when I pulled your soul from Hell, I… I had to use a piece of my grace to put you back together.”

Dean’s eyes go impossibly wide, and his hand subconsciously rises to meet the place on his shoulder where Castiel’s imprint used to be.

“I can sense your emotions, Dean,” Castiel says.

“Wait, hold up,” Dean says as he starts to pace around the room. “Do you… can you read my thoughts too?”

“I could,” Castiel nods. “But I could do that to anyone.” Dean gives him a weird panic look, and Castiel adds: “But I never did, Dean.”

“Why?” Dean asks, frowning slightly.

Castiel looks at him, and his face must express how he feels about that question because Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks away, sheepishly.

“I would never invade your privacy like that, Dean.”

“I’ve just woken up to you spooning me so, forgive me if I won’t bet my money on that yet, Cas,” Dean says harshly.

Castiel averts his eyes and feels the blush coming back. “I’m sorry for that,” he mumbles. “I used to comfort you with my wings. After,” he swallows hard, “after you caught me that one time Sam was on the stakeout and you freaked out, I stopped for a while. But your pain, Dean, I couldn’t just stand by and let you be consumed by it. So I did it again. Only now, I was invisible, so you wouldn’t freak out again.”

Dean’s face is showing his wheels turning, and slowly, a realization appears on it.

“That extremely comfortable beds and sheets.”

“Yes,” Castiel nods. “That wasn’t the beds and sheets.”

“And this… now,” Dean says, gesturing vaguely to bed and Castiel sitting at its edge.

Castiel looks down to the ground. “I can’t comfort you with my wings anymore. But I couldn’t stand hearing you suffer. So I thought… I’d comfort you this way.”

“Right,” Dean nods to himself, returning to pacing around the room. Castiel is watching him closely, trying to guess what he’s feeling. It’s weird, not feeling Dean’s emotions. Sometimes it’s easier for him, but other times, like this time, it’s so hard for Castiel to read Dean without knowing how he feels.

“Look, man,” Dean says suddenly, and Castiel notices Dean stopped pacing and is now looking straight at him. “No offense, but this… that’s just weird. I appreciate that you wanted to help me. But, just don’t. Don’t ever do this again, alright?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, glancing at the door. “I’m sorry.”

******

Dean is lying on his bed again, three days later. Three days from the day he woke up and realized Castiel was spooning him during the night. Dean shudders. It’s just weird. Even Castiel spooning him with his wings was strange, but at least Dean didn’t know about that. But spooning him properly, with Cas’ body pressed against his, his arm protectively thrown around Dean’s waist. Okay. Maybe it felt safe and pleasant and calm, and a tiny little bit like home. But it was still super weird. Yet Dean can’t shake the feeling like he was too harsh on Cas. After all, the dude was just trying to help him. In his weird, innocent, not-knowing-better way.

He turns around in his bed and closes his eyes. 

“I'm not going,” he repeats to himself multiple times under his breath. “ Definitely not.”

Before he even gets to the tenth repeat, Dean is getting up and watching as his hand is opening his bedroom door.  Before he can think about it again, he is knocking on Castiel’s bedroom door.

A soft ‘come in’ sounds from the other side, and Dean walks inside. Castiel is sitting on his bed, his knees to his chest, his chin resting on his knees lightly. He is in pajama, which is unusual, but Dean doesn’t comment on it. He points to the bed and raises an eyebrow. Castiel nods and Dean makes few steps towards it. He sits down on the bed and wills himself to raise his eyes to meet Castiel’s.

“Cas,” he starts. “Look, I, I’m sorry. I… shouldn’t have been so mean to you.”

Castiel sighs profoundly and looks away from Dean. “That’s okay, Dean.”

Dean grits his teeth, trying not to snap at the other man. “You always do this,” he says. Castiel’s eyes travel back to his, his brow furrowing. “You always put everyone else first.”

Castiel shakes his head, pulling at the covers at his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You care about me not getting a good night’s sleep, but yet you refuse to sleep properly. Why you do that?” Dean asks.

Castiel is silent for a long while. Dean thinks he might have not heard the question or might have maybe drifted away, thinking about something else. But then, Castiel speaks, his voice almost a whisper: “I can’t sleep. Because when I try to… I have terrible nightmares, Dean. I don’t understand, how could you humans sleep like that?”

Dean smirks slightly. “Well, for starters, not all humans have constant nightmares. Just really messed up ones. Consider yourself lucky.”

Castiel shots Dean a very deadpanned look, and Dean would flinch if it wasn’t so much Cas-like. He huffs a little laugh and draws his right leg up on the bed to better face Castiel. “Alright, look,” he says. “I don’t know when we are going to get your mojo back, but I promise you, Cas, we will.”

Castiel’s eyes reflect doubt and Dean’s heart aches, but he puts this feeling away. “I will,” he says, instead. “And in the meantime, scootch.”

Castiel frowns deeply as Dean climbs up to his bed and settles next to him.

“Dean, what are you—?”

“There’s this cure that people use for nightmares. But, and I can’t stress this enough, not a word to Sam, or anybody else.” Dean says, his voice low and serious.

“Dean, I don’t understand.”

Looking into Castiel’s eyes and trying his hardest to keep his expression calm and collected, Dean says: “I’m gonna spoon you, Cas. But just because you have nightmares and I can’t risk you falling asleep in the middle of the action. You need your beauty sleep, understand?”

“Dean, you don’t have to—”

But Dean raises a hand to shut Castiel up and then makes a gesture to usher him to lie down. The former angel complies and lies down on his side, backing the other man. Dean shifts close to Castiel, feeling the heat from his body on his chest. He throws an arm around Castiel’s hip and breathes in the shampoo that he lent Castiel to use.

“Now shut up and sleep,” Dean says as he closes his eyes.

Castiel lies there for a moment, all stiff and motionless. But after a while, Dean feels him leaning against him and relaxing.

“Dean?” Castiel whispers.

“Hmmm?” Dean murmurs into the back of Castiel’s neck.

“This feels nice.”

Dean smiles and inches closer to Castiel, nuzzling into his neck. “I told you to shut up,” he mumbles.


End file.
